Where There's Smoke
by FloatingPalace
Summary: Em has hidden herself-and her powers-for most of her life. The daughter of one of America's most influential anti-mutant advocates, she doesn't know what else she can do. When she finds herself fighting beside a seedy guy in a trenchcoat, however, everything changes. GambitxOC
1. Prologue: Politics

_**Record #32241**_

_**September 22, 2013**_

_-So, Emily Jameson._

_-Oh, you know my name. Good for you; this is a bang up job you guys are doing here._

_-Thank you. We take pride in our work._

_-I'm sure you do._

_-Do you know why you're here, Miss Jameson?_

_-I'll go out on a limb and say you don't want me for my looks._

_-That's quite a sense of humor you have there, Miss Jameson. Keep that up and we might have to do something about it._

_-Goodness me, was that a threat? I'm so frightened! Look, I'm shaking._

_-Sarcasm will get you nowhere with us, Miss Jameson. _

_-Sorry. It's my body's natural defense against stupidity._

_-Why don't you tell me about your friends?_

_- I don't have friends._

_-Colleagues, then. The people you were with before we found you._

_-Hmm…people. I don't seem to recall being around anyone before you _kidnapped_ me._

_-You make it sound so crass, Miss Jameson; but if we are going to go down this path…we have ways to make you talk._

_-Oh. Well, if we're going down _that_ road, can I at least have a doughnut before we start? I'm no fun to torture on an empty stomach._

**XXX**

"One, two three four…"

"I declare a thumb war!" Em whispered, twisting her hand in a wild attempt to pin down her boyfriend's thumb.

"Ow!" Eric winced and shook Em's hand back and forth. "What are those, claws?"

"Worse—acryllics." Em laughed maniacally and managed to pin down Eric's thumb. She counted to five and let go of his hand. "Now you owe me dinner."

"How 'bout a Heath bar instead?"

"Cheap-o."

"Gold digger."

"Politician."

Eric gasped and pressed a hand to his chest in mock pain. "That hurt, Ems. That _really_ hurt."

"You still owe me dinner." Em shifted in her seat and leaned her head on Eric's shoulder. The dark fabric of his suit rubbed against her face. Eric laughed and slid an arm around her shoulder, tracing his fingers gently up and down her arm.

They sat like this for a minute or two as people rushed to and fro around them. They were seated in a large room—more of a theater, actually. There were three levels of seating, most of which had already been filled. People were still rushing around in the aisles or edging their way between seats. Teleprompters had been set up and film crews positioned strategically around the raised platform and podium that stood at the front of the room. Members of the Secret Service could be seen standing at the exits, scanning the crowd for suspicious activity (or at least that's what they were probably doing. The mirrored sunglasses made it difficult to tell).

Em squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She hated coming to the debates—they always made her feel sick to her stomach—but Greta had insisted, and when Greta insisted…well, she got her way.

"Your father's speaking, Emily," her stepmother had told her when Em had tried to refuse. "he needs the family there to support him."

Em had sighed and agreed. What else could she have done? Argued that Damien Jameson was a force to be reckoned with all on his own? That he wouldn't care if they showed up or not? That she didn't want to go because she was a…a…

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen!" A man's voice echoed over the crowd. "If you could find your seats and settle down, the conference will commence in two minutes."

Eric nudged Em. "Hey, sleeping beauty, they're starting."

Em elbowed him back and sat up. Sure enough, her father stood behind the podium, smiling his dazzling smile at the crowd.

**xXx**

Mutants are bad. Blah, blah, blah, danger to society, blah blah, threat to society, blah blah blah.

Gambit rolled his eyes and stretched his long legs out into the aisle next to his chair. It was the same melodramatic spiel he'd heard being spewed at the last…what was it? Five debates?

"Seven," the professor whispered. "And, contrary to what you were thinking, this one _is_ different."

Remy nodded. Professor Xavier had already told him that this would be the last mutant debate before the House of Representatives voted on the Mutant Registration and Cooperation Act.

Remy shifted in his seat. Even the name sounded ominous. Opressive. Ominous _and_ oppressive.

"Ugh," Remy sighed and slipped a hand into his pocket, from which he pulled a brand-spanking-new pack of cards. He popped the box open and slid fifty-two beautifully printed cards into his palm. Gambit split them into two piles, tapping them on his knee to balance them out before he began.

First a riffle shuffle, just as a warm up. the cards purred quietly—thwipthwipthwip—as they cascaded into a neat deck once again.

"The time has come to show these mutants what we are made of," the man on the pulpit was saying. He sounded logical and calm, as though he were proposing a business proposition. "We must let them know that humanity as a whole will not stand and watch them tear our society down brick by brick."

Gambit split the deck again.

"Just this morning I was watching the news. Last night, a Los Angeles bank was robbed in broad daylight by a group of mutants. Four people, including a young girl of eighteen—my _daughter_'_s_ age—died in that robbery. Killed by mutants."

Pile shuffle.

"Ladies and gentlemen, would you ask your families—your children, your nieces and nephews, your grandchildren—to live in a world where they will be terrorized by these genetic mutations of the human species?

Mongean shuffle.

"I wouldn't. I want my family to be free to walk the streets at night, to be able to live without being afraid of these mutants."

Kenchi shuffle.

"My name is Damien Jameson, and I will not—"

_Remy._ The professor's voice echoed inside Gambit's head. Remy glanced at Xavier: the man was staring straight ahead at the speaker. _Remy, we're going to have company._

"Good or bad, professor?"

Xavier turned his head and raised one eyebrow at Gambit.

"Right, professor." Gambit slid all but one of the cards into the sleeve of his trench coat. He rubbed the remaining one—a jack of clubs—between his thumb and forefinger. "Where they comin' from?"

**xXx**

Em's father was just wrapping up his speech when the wall behind him exploded.

It happened just like that—no warning, no dramatic music in the background or villainous laughter to act as foreshadowing. Just…boom. Steel beams, concrete and rebar caved inward, burying part of the platform and one or two of the other speakers with it.

Through the gaping hole in the wall stepped a man. He wore a cloak and a shiny helmet that hid most of his face.

"Well," he said, "what are you waiting for?"

For a moment, there was total silence as the thousands of people sitting in the audience processed what had just happened.

"Run."

And then all hell broke loose.


	2. Meetings

"Erik, my old friend." The professor rolled his wheelchair forward and tilted his face so that he was looking up at the helmeted man.

"Charles." Erik laughed. "What a _surprise_."

Gambit rubbed his card between his fingers. He could feel it buzzing with energy; almost subconsciously, he shifted so that he was almost crouching down. He braced his feet against the floor, bending his knees slightly so that he could turn on a dime or leap backwards if he needed too. The theater had mostly emptied out by then—the occupants had rushed out in one pushing, shoving, screaming mass. All who remained were the few injured by Erik's stunt with the wall, or the dead.

"What are you doing?" the professor called to his friend.

"I am making a point." Erik leapt from the splintered platform upon which he had stood, and landed lightly before Professor Xavier. His cape—a fantastically melodramatic touch—billowed around him. "They need to learn that we will not go down without a fight."

"Erik, this is not 'a point.'" The professor frowned and touched a hand to his bald head. "This is chaos—madness! Your actions…I fear that what you have done tonight will do nothing to help our cause."

Gambit frowned. They should have taken care of Magneto months ago. He was _un fou_—a lunatic, a killer. Magneto did not want peace between man and mutantkind. He wanted war.

But no. The professor insisted that they deal with Erik peacefully. On some level, Xavier still had faith in the "old friend" that had been so dear to him years ago.

"What I do, I do for our people, Charles." Magneto stepped towards the professor. In the distance, police sirens wailed. Gambit could hear the faint chopping noise of a helicopter. "I only want to ensure our safety."

The professor replied with something in his calmest, most diplomatic voice. Gambit tuned him out and turned his head slightly, checking the hole in the wall for any of Magneto's henchmen, or some well-meaning police man looking to be a hero.

Rubble, rubble, body, microphone, rubble, camera, body, chair, rubble, pretty girl, rubble, chair…

Wait.

Gambit's brain rewound to the bit about the pretty girl. He blinked his red eyes and sure enough, there she was, still kneeling on the stage just over Magneto's shoulder. The girl was bent over a man, with two fingers pressed to his neck. She had black, chin-length hair and was wearing some frilly pink dress.

_Professor, _Gambit thought, _we need to wrap this up. Fast._

"…caused enough damage for one night, don't you think?" Professor Xavier raised his formidable eyebrows at Magneto, giving no indication the he had picked up on Gambit's thoughts. "You've proved that mutants can be feared. You've proven that we can be dangerous."

"I'm doing this for us, Xavier." Magneto pushed off into the air. "For all of us."

"Violence is _never _the answer, my old friend. Remember that."

Magneto sneered at the professor and zipped away through the great empty space in the wall. Gambit shook his head and slid his card up his sleeve to join the rest of the pack.

"Didn't even say goodbye, Professor. Next time we'll have to teach 'im some manners."

"Yes," the professor clucked under his breath. "Next time."

"D'you think—"

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted Gambit's next remark. "If you're done, I wouldn't say no to some help."

It was the girl. She was standing on the edge of the stage, feet apart, shoulders squared. Her hair was covered with a light coating of rock dust and her hands were smudged with red.

"Er…" the professor glanced at Gambit. "Of course. Remy…"

"Aye, professor."

**xXx**

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Em glared at the paramedic. "Which one of you is asking?"

"Miss Jameson."

"I'm joking, joking…two fingers and a pen. Nice try, buddy."

The paramedic nodded. "I try. You're good to go."

"Thanks." She slid off the side of the ambulance and, after glancing at the people around her, picked out somebody she knew. Sort of. Ish.

Em hummed to herself, glad that she wouldn't have to wander around in a sea of strangers, and minced over to stand next to…well, she didn't actually know his name, now that she thought about it. He was the man that had helped carry her father out of the auditorium. Charles Xavier's friend. He was leaning casually up against a light pole, watching quietly as people walked to and fro. One arm was wrapped around his torso, keeping his brown canvas trench coat wrapped tightly about his person, while with the other he held an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

Em stood near him for a moment. When he didn't look at her, she scooted closer.

"Want a light?" she asked, when he failed to acknowledge her presence for a second time.

"No," he shrugged. "I'm tryin' to quit. Thanks for the offer, _cher_."

Em sidled closer to him until her elbow was brushing his.

"It wasn't an offer," she whispered, and snapped her fingers. The tip of the man's cigarette glowed cherry red and began to smoke.

The man raised his eyebrows. "That's some trick you got there." He switched the cigarette to his left hand and extended his right. "Remy LeBeau."

Em smiled and shook his hand. "Emily Jameson. Nice to meet you."

**xXx**

_**Record #32242**_

_**September 24, 2013**_

_-Well, don't you look positively smashing today. What, is that a new tie?_

_-What can you tell me about the X-Men, Miss Jameson?_

_-I think I've seen it somewhere before…let me think. Abercrombie and Fitch? Calvin Klein? Wal-Mart?_

_-Please answer the question, Miss Jameson._

_-Answer mine first._

_-You are in no position to play games._

_-Come on, just tell me. Sportsman's Warehouse? Cabella's? Old Navy's?_

_-Do you know who the X-Men are?_

_-No, but their costumes are freaking epic. Nordstrom?_

_-Have you ever had contact with the X-Men or any group of mutants who identified with or as anarchists and terrorists?_

_-Have you?_

_-No, Miss Jameson, I have not. If you don't want to talk about the X-Men…_

_-Macy's?_

_-Miss Jam—_

_-Ebay. Men's Warehouse. Ties dot com. Christina Aguilera's closet._

_-Take her away._

_-Another time out? Geez! You didn't even answer my question! Talk about bureaucracy._


End file.
